


At What Price?

by cakeisnotpie



Series: Clint and Phil White Collar AU [5]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe - White Collar Fusion, Alternative Universe - FBI, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder Mystery, Mutual Pining, Suit Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 04:03:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10153265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: After a few months or relative quiet, Phil finds himself in an uncomfortable situation that's made worse when Obediah Stane makes his play.  Can he and Clint get out of this situation with both theirs and their friends' lives?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The story so far:
> 
> When Special Agent Phil Coulson needed help on a white collar case, he turned to convicted con man Clint Barton, offering him a deal -- work with the Feds and get an early monitored release. Together, they solved the case of a missing piece of Russian amber along with Agents Maria Hill and Steve Rogers, bringing them into the cross hairs of Obediah Stone, head of Stark Industries. Along the way, Clint found himself an apartment in Tony Stark's mansion and a closet full of excellent suits. 
> 
> While working a corporate espionage case, Clint finds an old friend, one Loki Laufeyson, knee deep in the middle of the situation. He and Phil help Thor Odinson, Loki's brother and an Interpol agent, and Dr. Jane Foster uncover a conspiracy that could cost lives. 
> 
> On the trail of the elusive Enchantress, Clint goes undercover at an upscale strip club to find some stolen sketches. With the help of his best friend Natasha Romanova, Bucky Barnes, and Sam Wilson, they solve the case ... but someone higher up has different plans. 
> 
> Contracts have been put on on Clint, Natasha, and Bucky; Phil's old partner John Garrett shows up with a case. Clint calls on his friend Matt Murdock while Phil gets help from Melinda May. Clint has a choice to make ... if he live to make it.

“... and Tarleton will be firmly in place by the end of the year.”  

 

Obediah Stane’s tapped the end of his Mont Blanc pen against the pristine white paper; he checked his watch again, sighing as he shifted in his seat. These meetings ran far too long and were completely unnecessary, not to mention being risky.  The bigger the scheme, the more bureaucracy needed, and Stane had his own business to look after. 

 

“Are you bored, Obediah?”Johann Schmidt insisted on standing so he could tower over everyone else.  “Have somewhere to be?” 

 

“Actually, I do. Some of us have businesses to run; these conclaves are a waste of time.”  He pushed back and stood up. “We’re on track and we all have our marching orders. Time to stop talking and get to it.” 

 

“And what is it that has you so busy, I wonder?  Another failed attempt on Howard’s boy?  Or more cancelled contracts on nobodies?”  Schmidt sneered as he blocked Stane’s way. “Your obsessions put us at danger of being exposed, Obediah.”

 

“You underestimate Coulson and Barton,” Stane spat out. “They are a threat that needs taken care of.” 

 

“They are nothing.” Schmidt dismissed the idea. “Killing Howard was your first mistake; for all you thought you could control Anthony, you created an even bigger problem.” 

 

“Don’t lecture me. You’re the one who brought the Hand into this; now we’ve inherited all their enemies.” He wasn’t going to let Schmidt get the last word; the man was far too arrogant and believed himself above reproach. “We’ve lost sight of our original mission: I’m got into this to make money.”

 

“As did we all,” Wilson Fiske exclaimed from his place at the table. “Your inability to control Stark is your issue; clean your house before it affects the rest of us.” 

 

“I intend to.” Stane had had enough. Who was Fiske to question him?  “Maybe by then you’ll have actually made a move.” 

 

He stormed out, his bodyguards falling in around him as he made his way to the elevator. Pushing up the timetable would be risky, but he didn’t care. Tony would just have to be given a shove in the direction Stane wanted him to go. Then Barton and the others would be easy to find and shut down. 

 

They’d never see it coming.

 

* * *

 

“I think Barton had entirely too much fun pretending to be an English professor.” Maria tossed her scarf on her desk. “Quoting poetry at the drop of a hat while I mopped up puke in the boy’s bathroom.” 

 

“Hey, you were right about him not bothering to censor himself around the hired help” Clint replied. “He would never have spilled his secrets around any of us.  You broke the case.”

 

“A fifteen-year-old  who’ll spend the rest of his life in prison.” She sighed as she sat in her chair, running a hand over her swollen belly. “Sometimes this job gets to me,  you know?  Three dead because a kid with a trust fund was bored.” 

 

“I sat in on the interview,” Steve said, hanging up his coat on the rack by the door. “He was already a psychopath; imagine what he’d be like in a few more years if we hadn’t caught him. With his money and resources?” 

 

“Money’s not the root of all evil; some people are going to turn out bad no matter how they grow up.” Clint believed that with his whole heart; one of his first mentors had been like that, black to his very core. 

 

“I know, it’s just … “ She kicked off her slip on shoes.. “What am I doing bringing a child into this crazy world?” 

 

“You’re going to be a great mother,” Steve assured her for the forty-second time. “Your boy isn’t going to be robbing his friend’s parents for drug money.” 

 

“Ah.” She relaxed as Clint rubbed her neck, working out the kinks. “I should ask you to be our backup lamaze coach; Bruce is all thumbs when it comes to massage.”

 

“As long as they hospital is within the radius,” Clint shook his ankle monitor at her.

 

“Barton. My office,” Fury called.  “Five minutes ago.” 

 

“Don’t worry about the classes,” Clint told her as he started up the stairs. “I’m a certified instructor.” 

 

“Of course you are,” Maria called at his retreating back. “I don’t even want to know.” 

 

“Shut the door and sit down,” Fury said, closing the blinds.  Hs stalked to his desk and leaned a hip against the edge. “It’s time to have a talk.”

 

Nothing had prepared Clint for a confrontation first thing in the morning; despite his unorthodox methods, he and Phil had closed case after case.  Sure, the tension between them was palpable these days, what with the pining for more than just an occasional brush of knuckles over skin.  Clint kept to his word and didn’t push for more no matter how many cold showers he took or fantasies he indulged in late at night in bed alone.  He respected Phil’s position too much;  waiting was a talent Clint had cultivated. Still, those few kisses they’d shared had only revved up his libido and two more years on his sentence was a long time to wait.

 

Settling into his resting face, Clint prepared for the worst. 

 

Head down, tapping on his phone, Fury didn’t look up as he spoke. “I’ve been getting calls from other offices, wanting to use my ‘resource’ on special cases.  I’m not much of a sharer, but some of the D.C. higher ups are getting pretty insistent. How do you feel about being loaned out to other agents?”

 

Before Clint could frame a reply, Fury turned his phone around. EARS EVERYWHERE was written across the screen. SHIT’S HITTING THE FAN.

 

He’d been expecting it and even yet a pressure formed in Clint’s chest at the words. Over six months had gone by since a contract had been put out on Clint’s life; the eerie silence from Obediah Stane and HYDRA unnerved all of them. Question was just what form the attack was going to take. 

 

“My deal is with Phil Coulson.” He typed on his own phone as he spoke. “I’m not a commodity to be traded around.” 

 

WHO AND HOW? He wrote back. 

 

“Your release is contingent upon solving cases for the FBI, not just  with Phil, you know,” Fury said. 

 

WHERE WERE YOU LAST NIGHT AFTER YOU AND PHIL LEFT OFFICE? 

 

“Look, you know what I’m like; I can be a real shit sometimes.  I trust Coulson; that’s why we work.” 

 

STARK’S PLACE FOR DRINKS. WATCHED A MOVIE. PHIL LEFT ABOUT MIDNIGHT. Clint’s mind raced through the implications. Who needed the alibi? Him or Phil?

 

“Which is why I’ve said no, but this new case is right up your alley.” Fury handed him a full file folder.  “Take a gander and see what you think. Least you can do is give us the benefit of your experience.” 

 

JOHN GARRETT IS DEAD.

 

Clint jerked his eyes up; Fury’s dark ones were smoldering with rage. 

 

AFTER HE LEFT STARK’S CLUB. LAST NIGHT. BETWEEN 2 - 3 AM. 

 

“Yeah, I can do that. Can I run it by Coulson? Bounce ideas off of him?”  His voice was calm unlike the seething emotions inside. 

 

HOW? Clint’s mind raced ahead; Garrett had seemed pretty nonchalant about his role with HYDRA. They could have taken him out just to shut him up, but Clint doubted it was that simple.

 

“No. This is on a need-to-know basis and he’s not in the loop.” 

 

DOUBLE TAP. FAST AND PROFESSIONAL.

 

“Seriously? Phil’s the best mind in the whole division.” Separate the two of them, that was the objective.  Next would be a directive for Clint to leave the city. 

 

DOES PHIL KNOW?

 

“He’s going to be busy with another assignment. You’ll need to go to D.C. to present your findings without him. Steve can go with you since Maria’s so far along.” 

 

I’M NOT EVEN SUPPOSED TO KNOW. 

 

“That’s outside my radius,” Clint said, rising. “And how am I supposed to keep my contacts if I everyone knows I’m working for the Suits?”

 

WARN PHIL.

 

“This comes from higher up the food chain; you can’t say no,” Fury replied. “Remember, you’re only out of jail because you’re useful.” 

 

“Like I could ever forget,” and wasn’t that true.  

 

Nick gave him a sharp nod as he left; jogging down the stairs, he caught his hat and flipped it onto his head. “Have fun with paperwork,” he told Steve and Maria. 

 

“No way are you getting out of your share of this,” Maria complained. 

 

“Important business.” Clint waved the file. “And I get to work from home.” 

 

“Fuck you, Barton.” Maria waved him off. “I’ll get more work done without you hanging around.”

 

He laughed as he pushed through the doors, keeping a lighthearted smile until the elevator doors closed. Then he let it bleed off his face, leaning back on the wall and closing his eyes.  He had to get to Phil, call Nat, see if Stark or Pepper could get information about Garrett’s death. Maybe Bucky could tap some of his old contacts. 

 

As soon as he jogged down the steps to the subway, he shot off a text to Phil.  *Sleep late?*

 

Once he exited at the closest station to Stark’s mansion, he checked but there was no reply.  Four blocks west and two south, he caught another train and sent another message. *Stopping for coffee. Want some?*

 

By the time he was three blocks away from Phil’s, he was getting worried. Why wasn’t Phil answering?  He rang the bell, juggling the coffee he’d stopped to get for cover. Not a movement inside. He tried again then rang insistently four times in a row. Just as he was about to set the cups down, he heard the shuffle of feet and the turning of locks. 

 

“Clint?” Phil cracked the door, blinking in the morning light.  In an old Rangers shirt and boxers, Phil’s hair was askew, lines imprinted across his cheek from this sheets. His eyes fixed on the cups. “Tell me that’s for me and I”ll dance at your wedding.” 

 

“Your morning brew.” Clint handed it over and muscled his way past a sleepy Phil, blocking the view from the street. Anyone watching would only see the back of Clint’s grey pinstripe jacket. “Got a new case for us to go over.” 

 

“Case?” Phil rubbed his eyes with one hand then took a long drink.  “I can’t seem to get going this morning.”

 

“Hold that thought.” Clint set his phone on the end table and opened Tony’s new jamming program. “Okay, now we can talk.” . 

 

“I don’t …” Phil dashed down the hallway and into the tiny half-bath. Clint continued into the kitchen, took a bottle of water from the fridge and wet a rag; as Phil stumbled back out, he passed both over. “God, I feel like shit.” 

 

“You got a med kit somewhere?” Clint guided him over to a stool at kitchen island. 

 

“Pepto Bismol’s in the medicine cabinet upstairs.” Phil laid his head on his folded arms. “But I don’t think I could keep it down.” 

 

“Phil, we need to get a blood sample.” Clint turned on his phone. “You were fine last night.” 

 

“That’s how a 24-hour bug works,” Phil protested. “Even I get sick, Clint.” 

 

“Nat? I need you at Phil’s. Place is probably under visual surveillance.  And bring your kit.” Clint ended the call. “We need to get that sample while the drug’s still in your system.”

 

That got Phil’s attention; his head snapped up then he groaned, jumped up and ran back to the bathroom. When he came back, Clint had poured the water over ice for him to sip.  “Maybe it’s that taco I got from the truck for lunch?” 

 

“Phil.” There was no easy way to break the news. “John Garrett’s dead. He was murdered early this morning outside of Tony’s club.” 

 

Eyelids drifted closed and Phil sighed.  “Damn it, I knew he was in over his head.” 

 

“After you dropped me off last night, what did you do?” Clint asked.

 

“I headed straight home; I already was feeling sick,” Phil answered. “You think someone drugged me?”

 

“I think framing you for murder would get you out of HYDRA’s hair,” Clint said. 

 

“By making me puke my guts out?” Phil argued. 

 

“How much do you remember after you got home? Could you swear you were here all night?” Clint pressed; he knew exactly how he would do it and this felt far too similar. 

 

“I …” Phil’s forehead crinkled as he tried to think. “I took some Tylenol before I went to sleep. I remember that. I slept pretty hard until around seven a.m. then it hit me hard.”  He paused, rubbed his temples. “It’s a lousy alibi, isn’t it? If you hadn’t shown up,   no one could validate that I was even sick.” 

 

“Where’s your gun?” Clint kept his voice gentle; his anger was reserved for the assholes behind Phil’s condition. “Could someone have gotten to it while you were out?” 

 

“Gun safe.” Phil pushed up, hung on the edge of the granite countertop until he stopped swaying, then walked to the pine bench and coat rack combo in the hallway.  Opening a small door, Phil circled his finger, waiting until Clint turned around before he entered the code.

 

“You do know I can crack that in a few seconds, right?” Clint chuckled at Phil’s need to maintain the illusion.  

 

“Yeah, but I’m not going to make it any easier … shit. My glock’s gone. The .45 is still here along with my badge.”  Phil sat on the bench and closed the door. “That’s my service gun. I’m screwed.” 

 

“Don’t throw in the towel yet. Nat’s and I can come up with something.”  Clint’s brain revved into high gear. “What model is it? Do you have the serial number somewhere?”

 

“It’s logged at the bureau.” Phil stood. “We’d have to get in the database if you’re going to pull a switch.”

 

“I’ll call Tony. Time to get the team together and go the offensive.  I’m tired of all this waiting anyway; they’ve struck the first blow. We’re going to end it.”

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil's on the other side of the interview table, but, thankfully, he has friends with special skills.

“Now, I just need to get a few details straight.  Won’t take long.”  

 

The Fed, a guy from FBI Intelligence named Alan Quartermaine, flattened out the top paper of the file he’d laid on the table then straightened his standard issue red tie. He and his partner had divided the interviews, Lou Donaldson taking the first turn at Phil. The two had knocked on Phil’s front door precisely at 9:52 a.m., breaking the news of Garrett’s death; although everything had been cordial so far, Clint knew that wouldn’t last.  

 

“Good. Some big muckety mucks down in DC are waiting for my evaluation of that case.” Clint with his best good old boy grin, his aw shucks head tilt that made a lock of hair hang down over his eyes.  “I’d hate to hold them up; kind of on a short leash, if you know what I mean.”

 

Quartermaine’s eyes flitted downward, all too aware of the monitoring anklet. “Yeah, I understand,” he said, and damn if Clint didn’t believe the man.  Choosing a patsy like this guy would make the case against Phil stronger. “Let’s start with last night.  Walk me through what happened after you left the office.”

 

The key to interrogations was to give them all the information they could want and more. Occasionally tweak a few details; people didn’t remember everything perfectly and a memorized story that matched exactly with other witnesses was a red flag.  So Clint left out Pepper leaving around midnight, focusing instead on the movie he watched with Stark and the time he went to bed. He neglected to say that Fury had told him not to involve Phil in the case he’d been given then admitted he’d gone to Phil for help. He produced the receipt for the coffees with its timestamp and walked the Fed through Phil being sick.  

 

As the circled back through Clint’s story, Quartermaine poked as many holes as he could, looking for problems.

 

“So you, Stark and Ms. Potts watched _Alien_ and _Aliens_ together,” Quartermaine stated.

 

“No. Pepper went home after the first one. She had a meeting this morning. Plus, I think she was getting really annoyed by the whole density of liquid hydrogen argument,” Clint clarified.  

 

“Liquid hydrogen?” the agent asked, confusion on his face.

 

“We were trying to figure out how much the Nostromos … the ship in _Alien_? … weighed.  Tony likes to work things in circles, so we ended up with liquid hydrogen as our comparative element …” Specific and yet specious, the statement only bolstered Clint’s tale.  “Stark’s like that. He’ll argue for hours, dragging everyone into … oh, hey, I completely forgot. We sent texts to Bucky … that’s James Buchanan Barnes, by the way … and Rhodey … James Rhodes, Tony’s friend … to get their opinions.”

 

Half truth, half lie, it was enough to support the idea that Clint had an airtight alibi.  They did call Rhodey; Bucky, on the other hand, would have slammed the phone down in their ears if they woke him up for something as silly as that.  But Bucky, who was now bunking with Steve since the contract had been cancelled, would swear that he got that text and his phone would show it as received.

 

Quartermaine wrote the new information down.  “Ah, okay.  That helps.”  He poured over his notes.  “You said that Fury gave you the assignment this morning; did he tell you to speak to Phil about it?”

 

“Not that I remember.” Clint tossed out that untruth easily; they’d expect him to lie somewhere and this one fit the narrative of him as unable to follow the rules. “I’m still learning and Phil’s insight is invaluable.”

 

“Hmmm.” Quartermaine chewed the end of his pencil before scratching a few more lines. “And you haven’t seen John Garrett since the last time he was in this office?”

 

“Yep. I stayed out of his line of sight. He wasn’t too happy with me; I got the feeling he didn’t trust me.” Now that was an understatement, but the agent had to be aware of Garrett’s animosity.  If he didn’t already, he’d learn of it when he interviewed the rest of the team. “I worked with Steve on that case.”

 

“Was Garrett’s anger turned towards anyone else?” Quartermaine asked.

 

“Maria’s not a fan. Garrett needled her the whole time he was here. Pretty much ignored Steve.” Clint huffed. “Only person Garrett seemed to like at all was Phil.”

 

“So there was no tension between them?”

 

“Just the normal level when an old friend shows up and doesn’t like your new ones.” Clint shrugged. “I think they hung out while he was here.”

 

“At the club?” Quartermaine perked up.

 

“Nah, Garrett was into the main room; Phil’s more of an upstairs kind of a guy.” This time, Clint winked as if if he was bringing the agent in on the joke.  “According to Maria, Garrett was okay with Phil’s sexuality; might be a pain-in-the-ass to me, but he was Phil’s friend.”

 

“Right.” The agent’s shoulders sagged. “Okay, one last question. Did Agent Coulson mention anything about feeling ill last night before he dropped you off?”

 

“He didn’t say anything but …” Clint paused, flicked his eyes down to his fingers, twisting the button of his jacket back and forth. “He was looking a little pale. Phil never admits when he’s sick; everyone around here knows to look for the signs so we can start nagging him to take care of himself.  When I invited him in, he took a raincheck; he’s a big science fiction geek, so that was unusual. Plus, he likes to watch movies in Stark’s home theater. Man’s got a sleek set up -- 98 inch screen, surround sound, dolby, 3D …” Clint hesitated again. “I should have said something, asked if he was okay.”

 

“He didn’t say anything,” Quartermaine persisted. “But you thought he looked sick?”

 

“Yeah. I feel bad about it.” Clint sat back. “He was green around the gills this morning. Could barely stop throwing up long enough to open the door.”

 

“Hmmm.” Quartermaine wrote some more and Clint patiently waited, reading the handwriting upside down from the corner of his eye.  A big question mark went after the statement of Phil being sick -- the agent didn’t quite buy that -- but the rest was a list of factual details, and Clint was happy with that much.  “Okay, I’ll let you get back to work, but don’t leave the office. I might have more questions.”

 

“You mind if we order in some lunch? There’s a great thai place that delivers. You like curry? They have a great red one; their pad thai’s damn good too.” Clint pushed away from the table and offered a friendly grin. “One thing I’ve learned about the Bureau; you work long hours and don’t always get time to eat.”

 

“I could go for some pad peanut chicken.  Lou’s on a health kick, so pretty much anything with tofu will do it.”  Quartermaine returned the smile. “Thanks.”

* * *

 

Donaldson was good, Phil gave him that.  A solid two hours of questioning had yielded a few inconsistencies as the other agent carefully and methodically went over every detail.  As much as Phil wanted to get frustrated, he kept his cool by remembering the long term goal. Taking Stane down was going to require some sacrifice and it looked like Phil was the one who was going to make it. Within twenty minutes, he put the pieces together; questions about his gun, his illness, the last time John was in town, their past interactions including the confusion over Phil’s sexuality all added up to a frame job.  Even John’s own sordid history of sexual harassment claims and reprimands for insubordination were fair game.  Stane didn’t seem to mind exposing John’s dirty secrets if it fit the narrative that Phil had killed him.

 

“Don’t leave town,” Donaldson told him as he exited the interview room.  “We’re still waiting on preliminary ballistics and other reports.  We’ll want to question to again.”

 

“I’ve got lots of casework to file,” Phil replied, maintaining the same friendly tone he had throughout the ordeal. “I’ll be in my office if you need me. Don’t hesitate to ask; I want to find who killed John as much as you do.”

 

What he wanted was to go home, put on some sweats and curl up with a hot water bottle; his stomach was achingly empty and his throat raspy and dry.  He’d eaten nothing all day, worried he wouldn’t keep it down, drinking water slowly to rehydrate.  He hadn’t thrown up since this morning, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Maybe he’d try a cup of coffee, lots of sweetener and cream to make it go down smoother.  Maybe he’d convince Clint to run out and get a mocha latte from that shop around the corner.

 

Sitting in the middle of the blotter on his desk was a still steaming large cup emblazoned with the cafe’s logo. Phil smiled when he saw it, along with a hunk of french bread and some individual butter and honey servings. Some days it worried him, how much he and Clint were starting to think alike, but today he was damn glad.  Settling in his chair, he took the first sip then mixed the butter and honey to spread over the bread.  Eating small bites, he opened up his computer and got to work on his to-do list.

 

“You going to make me come in here and ask you how it went?” Nick said, closing the door as he entered.  “As your superior, I have a right to know if my special agent is under suspicion for murder.”

 

“Aren’t you going to ask if I did it?” Phil leaned back, reaching for his cup which, he was surprised to find, was empty.  

 

“I know you, Phil. If you wanted to kill Garrett, you sure as hell wouldn’t use your registered gun or leave it at the site.  Damn messy frame job, that’s what it is. Drugging someone’s always hit or miss; never know how they’ll react.  Hell, Benadryl puts everyone to sleep but it revs me up.  I painted the family room one night while hopped up on that shit,” Nick said. He didn’t sit; he rarely sat down anywhere but his own chair. “Plus, why drug you and leave your gun? Overkill. Or two frame jobs running into each other. Next will be doctored security cam video showing you in two different places at the same time.”

 

Phil raised an eyebrow at Nick’s tirade; interesting way to give whoever was listening in an ear full.  “Just for the record, I didn’t kill him.  John could be a pain-in-the-ass, but he was a friend. I owe him; he went to bat for me when I came out of the proverbial closet.”

 

“Yeah, Garrett was a hell-of-a-good agent in his time. Went wrong somewhere, that’s for sure.” Nick started pacing back and forth.  “I don’t like this one bit, Phil. D.C. keeps taking over your cases, losing suspects, files disappearing into that big warehouse where they keep the Ark of the Covenant. Now this. Someone doesn’t want you poking around in their business.”

 

“I’m getting that feeling,” Phil agreed.  

 

There was a light tap on the door, and Darcy waved through the glass. At Phil’s sign, she came in, a mug in one hand and a box. “Hey, thought you could use some tea.  It’s peppermint; my gram always gave it to me when I was sick.  Calms the tummy right down.” She sat it on the edge of the desk. “Along with saltines.  They help.  Brought you a whole box.”

 

“Thank you.” Phil smiled in appreciation.  

 

“For what it’s worth, we all know you’re being set up.  Just tell us what you need from us, okay? Don’t go all He Man and think you have to power through by yourself.” She raised an eyebrow and fixed her gaze on him.  “I know how you are, A.C. Good thing Clint’s around; he’ll make sure you don’t go all noble on us.”

 

She spun and left, Nick stepping out of her way. “That woman’s going to run the whole division one day, mark my words,” Nick said. “But she’s not wrong. You’ve got friends; take advantage of them.”

 

If Nick only knew, Phil thought to himself.  “I know,” was what he said out loud. “And I’m grateful for it.”

 

Nick’s phone pinged and he looked at the text. “Ballistics is back. That was damn fast.”

 

“Means the rifling was already in the system,” Phil said.  He’d told Clint he didn’t want to know the plan for dealing with the gun so he could have plausible deniability.  

 

“It’s not yours.” Nick visibly relaxed his shoulders. “It’s registered to … It’s Garrett’s. It’s his own gun.”

* * *

 

“Am I brilliant or what?” Tony crowed. “One foray into the Feds computer system, swap a few numbers and … BINGO!”

 

“Yes, we know. You’ve told us that twice already today.” Bucky was feeling out-of-sorts lately, so keyed up from waiting that when the move came, he’d expected to blow into action. Instead, he was sitting in Stark’s computer room, watching video feed of two men sitting in a car watching Coulson’s house.  

 

“Okay, Grumpy Cat. I know what you need; how about we hit the gym for awhile, let you exercise away some of that energy. Unless, of course, you want to burn it off another way.” Tony waggled his eyebrows. “Got a big bed upstairs just begging for some afternoon delight action.”

 

“First, it’s not afternoon anymore,” Bucky replied. “Second, no sex. Just no. You are not my type.”

 

“Right, I don’t have startling red hair and luscious breasts and a tight little …” Tony’s words were cut off as Bucky grabbed him by the throat.  “Yeah, yeah, don’t go there. Got it.”

 

Bucky let go.  “But I will take you up on the gym time.  Been sitting around too much lately. You going to keep watch?”

 

“I’ll transfer the feed to the monitors there; I wouldn’t mind a swim and a yoga session. With this trip coming up tomorrow, I won’t have time.  Flying straight there, giving the presentation, then flying right back. Gonna play havoc with my sleep schedule.”  He entered a string of commands and the same image came up on his tablet that was on the screen.  “Come on, Ice Man. You can be the beater and I'll be the seeker.”

 

“Nah, you’re more like a chaser. Clint’s the seeker,” Bucky argued just for the hell of it.  At least it was something to do.  “Nat’s the Keeper and Coulson’s another seeker.”

 

“Oh, no, no, no.  I am so Harry Potter,” Tony began, warming up to the subject.  “I’m Gryffindor, of course.  Barton’s got to be Hufflepuff. Romanova … yeah, she’s Slytherin. No doubt.”

 

Bucky smiled as he followed Tony down the hall.  Soon, he knew, the shit would hit the fan, and he was glad the time was finally here. He felt the need to knock a few heads together, especially of people who threatened Natasha. Then he’d feel right as rain.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the plot thickens ...

“Phil seriously invited them into his house?” Bucky shook his head after he swallowed his sip of beer. “Man’s got balls, I’ll give him that.  Not that I’m interested in them; Barton would steal all my retirement savings if I so much as glanced that way.” 

 

“Nah.” Clint snagged a chip and loaded it up with homemade salsa. “I’d let Tasha handle you. Besides, that little IRA isn’t worth the effort.” 

 

“Wait, how do you …” Bucky sputtered but was cut off when Maria returned from the restroom, easing her body down into her chair. 

 

“Damn kid is playing bongos with my bladder.” She stared at her glass of water and sighed. “I need a drink, damn it.” 

 

“Just a few more weeks, right?” Steve took the opportunity to change the subject. “You ready?” 

 

Maria snorted. “Hell, no. Bruce is still working on the crib … damn Stuva crib with picture instructions. I swear IKEA wants to drive people crazy.”

 

Steve groaned as Bucky laughed. “You should hear the story about the time Stevie here tried to put together a dresser from that place. What was the name of it?” 

 

“Askvoll,” Steve muttered. “And the holes were too small for the dowels. It wasn’t my fault.” 

 

“Right. Asshole furniture. I think that was the kindest thing you said about it,” Bucky said. “Swore to never buy anything from there again.  That lasted, what, six months?” 

 

“I can’t afford real furniture on my salary,” Steve protested. “And it was a chair. Shouldn’t have been that hard.” 

 

“Did you know that World Tree owns IKEA?” Clint told them. “Maybe it is a plot.” 

 

“Now there was a set of brothers,” Maria said, spooning salsa onto her plate. “One an Interpol agent and the other a thief. Although I will say Thor’s arms were fabulous. He still dating that scientist?” 

 

“She took a job in Geneva to be closer to him,” Steve supplied. “Jane and Sharon stay in touch.” 

 

As far a tail went, the woman was fairly unobtrusive, sitting on a barstool, nursing a whiskey while watching them in the mirror’s reflection.  She looked like nothing more than a tired accountant waiting on friends -- checking her watch at random intervals was a nice touch -- but Clint caught the too expensive watch and the brand new heels.  Not FBI, that’s for sure; between Steve and Maria, they pretty much knew all the local agents. No this was an independent contractor, hired for the job. 

 

“Tony get off okay?” Clint asked Bucky. “I know Pepper was worried about this trip.” 

 

“An hour and a half late and I suspect he stopped a couple times on the way to the airfield. Man can dither better than anyone I know,” Bucky replied. “I really don’t miss those quick, halfway around the world trips.  Ten to twelve hours in the air for a couple hours on the ground? No thank you.” 

 

“That why he makes the big bucks.” Steve chuckled. “I guess that’s not true; he inherited his money, didn’t he? Still the company has to sell their products to keep afloat.” 

 

“Weapons of mass destruction.” Maria licked a bit of tomato from her finger. “I’m all for defense and arming the soldiers, but some of that stuff Stark Industries peddles goes way beyond that.”

 

“Aww, you going soft on us?” Clint needled her because, well, it was a tradition by now. “Next thing you’ll be chaining yourself to a tree to stop the loggers.” 

 

“Fuck you, Barton,” she shot back with no heat. “I happen to be a conservationist and a member of the National Park Association. So there.” 

 

Everyone laughed as the food arrived, platters of tacos, burritos, tamales, and rice.  Clint tucked into his garlic shrimp carnitas, wiping his chin when the buttery sauce dribbled down.  Opening a bottle of hot sauce, Maria covered her spicy lobster tacos with the red stuff.  Her face reddened after the first bite but she sighed and kept eating. 

 

“That’s just wrong,” Bucky said around a mouth full of carne asada quesadilla, eyeing the double order on her plate. “And I thought Steve could eat anything.” 

 

“Leave the woman alone,” Steve told him. “You’re just jealous because it would give you heartburn. Let’s face it, we’re not young anymore.” 

 

“Speaking of heartburn,” Maria said, ignoring Bucky’s comment. “You should have seen Donaldson’s face when the gun turned out to be Garrett’s. It’s like he was sure it would be Phil’s.” 

 

“We shouldn’t be talking about the case in front of Buck.” Steve objected. 

 

“Screw that.” Bucky shrugged. “Besides, I already know most of the details. Like the bank camera showing someone leaving the alley, but the ATM one not.”

 

When Steve looked his way, Clint held up his hands. “Not me, dude. I suggest you look elsewhere.” 

 

“He’s been flirting with Darcy,” Maria offered. “Besides, they wanted to kill him, so I think he deserves to know what’s going on.” 

 

“Who are you and what have you done with Maria Hill?” Clint asked. Maria just raised an eyebrow and kept eating. 

 

“There will be more evidence,” Bucky predicted. “This isn’t Stane’s style; he’s more like me, hit first, worry about the consequences later. This is Barton’s kind of game; even if he’s cleared of the charges, Coulson’s name has been tarnished enough to raise questions about anything else he finds.” 

 

“Poison the well,” Steve murmured. “Damn.”

 

“Once people lose faith in you, start to question your truthfulness or credibility, it’s over,” Clint agreed. “CEOs have been forced to resign for less.” 

 

“Well, it’s not going to work this time,” Maria vowed. “Phil has friends.” 

 

“That he does,” Bucky said. His eyes found Clint’s for a brief second. “That he does.”

* * *

 

“Coffee?” Phil offered Agent Quartermaine. “There’s creamer in the door of the fridge and sugar in the bowl.  I think I’ve got some sweetener somewhere if you prefer.” 

 

Alan took the cup Phil held out, sniffed then drank a long swallow. “Black’s fine. I need all the octane I can get. My back thanks you for letting me use your couch. I’m getting to0 old for sleeping in the back seat of a car.” 

 

“Yoga, I keep telling you,” Lou Donaldson said as he dropped two cubes of sugar into his coffee. “My wife kept nagging me until I went and she was right. Had to admit it and everything.”  

 

Phil took a long drink before he added one cup of sugar and a dash of creamer; the first jolt of kona blend helped him wake up.  A long night of tossing and turning, going over all the ways this could go wrong, left him wound just as tight as when he’d gone to bed.  “Tai chi’s pretty good too.  There’s a gym a block from the office; agents can get a day pass while their in town.”

 

Quartermaine’s phone buzzed seconds before Donaldson’s. Phil kept drinking his coffee, waiting as both men read from their screens.  

 

“Damn it,” Alan said. “We’ve got to go but we can’t …” 

 

“No problem. I’m ready.  Steve’s picking up Clint anyway. Go cups are on the counter” Phil opened the small safe and took out both gun and badge.  “Just have to turn on the security system.”

 

No one spoke the rest of the way in; Fury was waiting at the curb, a sure sign that the news hadn’t been good. Quartermaine got out and rode the elevator up with them, giving them no time to talk. Early enough that no one else was in the bullpen, Phil headed into his office, giving the others room.  Once inside, he sent a quick text to Steve, verifying he was headed to Stark’s. As much as he wanted to update Clint, he put his phone down and booted up his computer, intending to get to work, but Pepper’s ringtone sounded and her image flashed on the screen. 

 

“You’re up early,” Phil said as way of greeting. “Or did you go with Tony and it’s afternoon there?” 

 

“Phil.” Pepper’s voice shook and a little sob escaped.  The whole time Phil had known Pepper, he’d never seen her cry or even lose her cool over anything. 

 

“Hey, it’s okay.” Phil closed the door and lowered his voice. “Whatever it is, tell me.” 

 

“Tony. It’s Tony.” She took a deep breath. “The convoy he was riding in was attacked and he’s missing.” 

 

The words rocked Phil back on his heels. “Missing? As in taken?” 

 

“Rhodey thinks the insurgents captured him.  They killed the soldiers he was riding with, damn it.” Her voice grew stronger the angrier he got. “We’re expecting a ransom demand and I thought … I mean, I know you don’t deal with terrorism, but you’ve done hostage negotiation before. Would you come over?  I could use a friendly face.” 

 

“Of course.” Phil was already in motion. “I can be there in under 20 minutes if I walk it. Call Clint; Steve can drop him there instead.”

 

“Thank you.” Voices sounded in the background; State's booming bass overrode the others. 

 

“I don’t care what you can and can’t do. I’m making the call!” he shouted.  

 

“I’ve got to go,” Pepper said. 

 

“I”m on my way.” 

 

He made it down the stairs before Quartermaine called out. “Where are you going?” 

 

“A friend needs help.” The news wasn’t his to break, so he settled for that truth. “I’ve got personal days; I’m taking one.” 

 

“I’m afraid I can’t let you go.”  Alan jogged down the stairs to where Phil stood. “You’re a person of interest in an ongoing …” 

 

“Am I under arrest?” Phil didn’t have time to argue; there was no telling what Stane would do with this development. 

 

“Not at this time …” 

 

“Then I’m out of here. You can’t hold me without cause.” He took a deep breath. “Look, I’m going to be around a lot of people including government types. If you want to walk me to the Stark Tower so I’m never alone, that’s fine. But I’m leaving now.” 

 

“Pepper called you,” Nick stated. “You know about Stark.” 

 

“Obviously, so do you,” Phil replied. “Then you know why I’m going.” 

 

“Yeah.” Nick sighed. “Quartermaine can go with you. I’ll route Barton and Rogers that way when they come in. She’ll need all the support she can get.” 

 

“Sir, my orders are to keep Agent Coulson here,” Quartermain protested. 

 

“And I’m issuing you new ones. Go join your partner and take Phil with you.  He’ll still be under constant observation, right? So make it happen.” Fury waved them both out the door. “I’m getting a damn headache from all this shit.” 

* * *

 

He wove his way through the throng of agents, dispensing bottles of water and cups of coffee as he migrated through the room. The variety of alphabet agencies represented in the space was dazzling; so much information just waiting to be mined with the simplest of questions.  But he kept his words to a minimum, fading into the background, just another low-level worker in a faceless corporation suit, tightly cropped blonde hair and neatly trimmed goatee.  A broad midwestern accent rolled around his vowels, hazel contacts obscuring the blue of his eyes. A slouch of shoulders, the tiniest hesitation before stammering a “you’re welcome,” and he went unnoticed even by those trained to be observant.  

 

“Coffee? Water?” he offered to the two FBI agents who taken up residence on the bench across from Pepper Potts office. 

 

“Coffee, please,” Alan Quartermaine answered, taking the proffered up.  “Thank you.”  

 

“No problem,” Loki Laufeyson replied. “Did anyone tell you the WIFI password? It will save you data minutes; it’s Stark1879industries.” 

 

“Oh, that’s great.”  Lou Donaldson swiped his tablet, switching to his control panel. “I can facetime my wife while we wait. Today’s our anniversary.” 

 

“Congratulations,” Loki replied. “If you need to send her flowers or a gift, I know a great florist that can arrange deliveries all over the world. We use them exclusively for SI.”

 

From the vantage where he stopped, Loki had a clear view of the strawberry blonde Ms. Potts pacing the floor in a very fine pair of gorgeous Brian Atwood multi-buckle shoes. Coulson, calm as ever despite being a prime suspect in a murder, sat on the edge of the desk.  As Loki rattled off the information for Donaldson, he narrowed his gaze on Clint, lounging in a chair, feet propped up on a coffee table. Damn man had on Gucci loafers without socks.

 

“Thanks,” Donaldson was saying. “I’m always away on red letter days, or so she says. This will help.”

 

“If you need anything, just ask for Jonathan. Jonathan Pine.  That’s me,” Loki said. “I’m always around.” 

 

One last glance in the office and Loki saw Barton rub a finger along his nose, flicking it down without taking his attention away from the intense conversation. Loki rolled his head, stretching his neck, and continued on his path to Obediah Stane’s office.  In the three months he’d been infiltrating SI, he’d become a permanent fixture on this floor, the perfect assistant who remembered every little detail of Stane’s schedule and preferences. At this point, he could walk out of the building with four different paintings worth over seven million if he wanted to.  But not today. A big score hovered just around the corner and Loki believed in payback enough to wait.  He’d have his art and his revenge all too soon. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shout out to all those who guessed that Tony's trip wasn't going to go smoothly ... you rock!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony tries to deal, Phil's worried, and things take a turn for the worst.

“Eat.”  Clint placed a white butcher paper wrapped sandwich on the table in front of Phil. “Pepper’s napping and James has eyes on her.”

 

With glass walls lining one side of the conference, they were in plain sight of the two feds and a lot of the various agents milling around. Placing his phone on the table, Clint started the minimal jammer, one of Tony’s little toys he’d been working on. 

 

“How are you feeling?” he asked, keeping his voice low just in case someone walked in. 

 

Phil carefully opened the package and found a beautiful pastrami on rye, melted cheese oozing out the sides. “Hungry. Thanks for this.” He took a bite, closed his eyes and savored.  

 

“Yeah, that stale spread SI put out didn’t look appealing at all.”  Clint bit into his own BLT and the lettuce crackled. “Thought this would be better.” 

 

They ate in silence for a full minute, watching the back and forth of scurrying workers and harried agents. No news, not a word from Tony’s kidnappers; every moment wasted bandying ideas around and arguing semantics of press statements rankled Phil’s nerves. He wanted answers. Who had John been in contact with, who was trying to frame him, and where was Tony? Was it all related? 

 

“I keep thinking about this collector I know in Kabul. Wondering if I should call him up. He’d want something in trade; if I knew he had information, I’d do it,” Clint said. “Fourteen hours, give or take, to get there. Bet Pepper has a jet on call that can do it faster.” 

 

Phil didn’t reply. He didn’t completely disagree.  His moral compass needle was spinning, undone by the good guys being bad and the bad guys being good. Nothing was black and white anymore. 

 

“And this is where you tell me to let the system work, Barton. Don’t get in the way.” Clint turned those blue-grey eyes Phil’s way. “Isn’t it?” 

 

“Maybe it’s the system that’s the problem,” Phil admitted. “People in power who use it for their own ends. Little guys like me getting screwed over because they can. Maybe this is all part of a bigger plan.” 

 

“Don’t you start going conspiracy theory on me,” Clint half-heartedly joked. “I’ve already got enough of that in my life.” 

 

“What do you do when you realize you’ve been working for the wrong side all along? I mean, I know there are good people in the Bureau with good intentions, but … maybe there is something to be said about working from the outside.” Phil settled back in his chair, tilting his feet off the ground as he leaned back, sandwich sitting on the table. “There’s no time to feel sorry for myself, I know. It’s just …” 

 

“You think the foundation you built your life on … justice for all… is crumbling.” Clint put his hand on Phil’s, a warm physical contact that dragged his thoughts away from the worst and down to the feel of skin against skin. “But you’re wrong. It’s the structure you’ve chosen to believe in that’s changing, not the underlying ideals. You still want to set things right, help others.  That’s who you are Phil, whether it happens with a badge in your hand or not.” 

 

And there it was, the open and earnest look Phil was coming to recognize as Clint, just Clint. Not the con man, just a guy who cared and was telling the truth.  Everytime he saw it, Phil’s heart melted a little more, the protective wall he’d built eroding away in in the face of Clint’s true self.  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Phil chuckled. “Don’t go telling everyone I said that. I’ve got a reputation to maintain you know.” 

 

“I’m sending a blanket text,” Clint replied, a sparkle in his eye. “Phil Coulson said I was right.” 

 

When Clint’s hand left, Phil mourned its loss and tamped down on the desire to chase it with his own, twine their fingers together and hold on for all he was worth. Fighting the urge to touch Clint was getting harder and harder; he didn’t know what would happen when he finally broke. But he now accepted that he was going to. Sooner rather than later. 

* * *

 

Tony fell on his knees, the impact sending jolts of pain up his spine. Grabbing his elbow, he held his arm in tight to his chest, trying to avoid jostling the bullet hole in his shoulder. He blinked in the bright lights, the pounding in his head making it impossible to focus. Trying to draw in a breath, he coughed, his chest contracting and tightening. 

 

“You will speak these words.” The heavily accented voice shoved a paper in front of Tony’s nose. Lines and angles spun in and out, making no sense. “Or we will kill you.” 

 

“What the fuck?” A cold muzzle of a gun pressed into his temple. ”Must have been a hell of a party. Anyone got some tylenol?” 

 

The punch knocked him over, his jaw taking the brunt of it. Hands yanked him back up into place.  “No talking until you read.” 

 

The glare receded until he could see two utility work lights hung from an overhead pipe. In front of him, a camera perched on a tripod, behind it a man wearing fatigues and a shemagh covering his head and mouth. 

 

“The deal … changed. Now … cost you five million plus the plans ... and the missile system,”  one of the men said.  “No ... double crosses … Five Rings; pay … drop him close ... American base ... alive.”

 

People underestimated Tony; he’d never understood why. It was no secret he was a damn genius but that didn’t stop others from assuming Tony was nothing more than an alcoholic playboy. By the time he was twelve, he spoke seven different languages; he’d learned Farsi while working on a project with a scientist named Yensin. Arabic was for a supermodel he dated and an engineering company SI acquired from Dubai. Even though his capturer was speaking a different dialect, he got the gist of the message. He hadn’t been kidnapped for ransom; someone had paid these people to kill him. The only reason he was alive was that they wanted to renegotiate the deal.

 

“Read.” A gun butt nudged Tony in the small of his back.  “Read.”  

 

He looked down, squinted, then coughed before he could get a sound out. “Stark Industries is in the business of killing innocents. The blood of the children runs wide as a … who came up with this ? Seriously you need a better scriptwriter …” He groaned as the gun hit him hard, his spine spasming from the pressure. “Fine, but it’s derivative drivel … as a river.  Allah’s wrath will destroy all infidels and those who profit from the pain of true believers … yada, yada, yada … you do know jihad doesn’t actually mean …” 

 

This time he whacked his head hard on the cement floor and saw literal stars. It took a few minutes before he got his shit together; by then, two of them had their hands under their arms and were dragging him towards the door. 

 

“$10 million. $2.5 now and the rest when I’m released.” He dug his heels into a crack in the floor. “Whoever you’re dealing with, they can’t come up with that much as fast as I can.” 

 

The man who spoke waved a hand and they turned Tony around to face him. “You bargain for your life?” 

 

“Well, I’m the one who cares about it the most.” Tony tried to shrug but it hurt too much. 

 

“The new missile system. Blueprints and a working model,” he demanded. “More weapons.” 

 

“So much for the blood of the innocents,” Tony muttered. “I don’t have any on me, but I can get them once I’m free.”

 

“And why would I trust you?” he asked.  “Men will lie to save their lives.”

 

“Bird in the hand is worth two in the bush,” Tony replied. “Besides, you can double dip. Take my money as well as the $5 mill if they pay up. That is, of course, if you can trust the other party.”

 

“You both have no morals, do you?  I, at least, believe in a cause; you believe in only yourself.”

 

“No one else does, so I guess I’ve got to.” To close to the truth, Tony didn’t dwell on that thought. He would say anything to stay alive, even promise to help terrorists. Not that he was planning to do it, but he had no problem lying to their faces. “Think about it. If I’m dead, I can’t design any more weapons for you.” 

 

“Take him to his cell.”

 

They dragged him to a tiny room, left him on a wet mattress, and locked the door. 

* * *

 

“Oh, excuse me.”  Obediah straightened his jacket, tamping down his anger when he saw the dark glasses and red-tipped walking stick of the man he’d bumped into. 

 

“No problem.” Dark, close-cropped hair, a cheap but well-kept suit … the man had pro bono lawyer written in the striped pattern of his tie. “I’m afraid I’m lost. Is this the sixtieth floor? I’m looking for Bob Markowitz's office.”

 

“This is the sixty-fifth; Jonathan, will you …”  Obediah nodded to the efficient assistant. 

 

“Of course. Let me get you to the right location.” Loki stepped forward. “The elevators are back around the corner.” 

 

Stane rode down in his private express car, inconvenience already forgotten, his anger returning in full force. Damn Raza, demanding more money; Obediah would have to dip into a few of his personal accounts to find that much that fast. But the man had him over a barrel; no way could Tony come out of this alive. He was done dealing with that headache; as soon as he had control of all the assets, first thing he’d do is kick Barton to the curb. He hoped he didn’t have to fire Potts; she was damn good at what she did but she could be too emotional. With that Fed out of the way and the crook gone, Stane would have things the way he wanted them. Finally.

 

“To the apartment, Ming.” He slid in the backseat, making room for the bodyguard who sat next to him. 

 

Dark hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, the driver glanced up in the mirror as she started the limo’s engine, her brown eyes filled with concern. “I’m sorry to hear about Mr. Stark,” she said, easing the large car out of its private slot.

 

“Yes. It’s a terrible thing.” Stane scrolled through the messages on his secondary phone, looking for one particular name. “No ransom demands yet; it doesn’t bode well.” 

 

As the car slipped into city traffic, he sent two quick texts, shuffling funds and getting ready to make the call. By the time the sun rose, not more than six hours away, he’d be solely in control of Stark Industries.  

* * *

 

“I’m going to call the boss” Donaldson said, heading into the living room. “Check in and see what’s what.” 

 

Everyone was tired; Phil had stayed with Pepper until the wee hours of the morning when she’d finally given in and agreed to get some rest. She was running on fumes, her afternoon nap lasting no longer than 20 minutes thanks to a flurry of phone calls from Washington D. C. Bucky, and by extension Natasha who more than likely had already broken into Pepper’s apartment and was waiting for them, had volunteered to stay while Clint and Phil got some sleep of their own. The twelve hour mark had passed without a phone call and everyone knew the chances of finding Tony alive were dwindling away quickly.  No ransom demands had come, and none of the usual groups had claimed responsibility for the bombing. The military had next to no leads and no one, not even Clint’s sources, were talking. 

 

Donaldson and Quartermaine had stuck around all day, sometimes convening with other agents and sometimes sitting with Pepper.  Phil had learned little details about both men … Donaldson was a 20 year veteran, Quartermaine had been NYPD before he became a Fed … and at times he’d forgotten about the looming murder investigation. But then a lab report would come back or a phone call from the crime scene techs and Phil would be right back in the crosshairs.  It was exhausting, the constant pressure and stress of so many things happening at once.  Not for the first time, Phil wished he could talk to Clint, crash on his couch and drink a beer to unwind. 

 

“Hey, Phil, can I bother you for a bottle of water?” Alan started to brush past Phil as he bent down to put his gun in the hall safe. 

 

“Sure, they’re in the …”  

 

Phil toppled backwards, hitting the floor hard as Quartermaine grabbed Phil’s gun, turned and shot Donaldson in the back. Scrabbling backwards, Phil pulled himself up, reaching for his Glock, but he was stopped by the waivering barrel pointed his way. 

 

“Don’t,” Alan said. “Don’t make this harder than it already is. Step away from the safe, nice and slow.” 

 

On the floor, Donaldson groaned as blood spread across the grey and brown area rug. “Let me call an ambulance for your partner,” Phil said, inching towards the fallen man. “Whatever’s going on here, we can work it out.” 

 

“No, we can’t.” Quartermaine said. “They’re going to kill my sister; her neighbor’s one of them. Damn it, she even gave him a key to feed her cat while she’s out of town. I’ve got no choice.”

 

“There’s always a choice.” Phil inched forward, never taking his eyes off Quartermaine. “We can help you, keep her safe.” 

 

“You do know this whole place is wired? Stane’s listening right now.” Quartermaine shrugged, a haunted look in his eyes. “This was supposed to be easy, just put you under suspicion for Garrett’s murder and tarnish your reputation.”

 

“Didn’t count on killing your partner, did you?” There was a heavy crystal award on the shelf, one of those useless things they gave for years of service. If he could reach it … “John was easy; he was a rogue agent anyway, right?” 

 

“I didn’t kill Garrett; they took care of that.” Quartermaine was cracking; Phil could see the tremor in his hand. “All I had to do was switch some evidence, that’s all. Fuck. My whole career, my life … damn it all to hell.” 

 

“You can’t shoot me with my own gun.” Almost there, just another step … 

 

“You shot Lou, turned to shoot me, we wrestled and the gun went off,” he said. “You’re a good agent, Coulson; I know you’ll make a play …” 

 

Phil spun, taking his chance; he dove, hand closing around the heavy base just a shot rang out. Bracing for the hit, Phil flinched but no pain followed. Swinging his impromptu weapon, he saw Quartermaine on the floor, blood blossoming across his white shirt. Lou Donaldson had rolled to one elbow; his gun dropped to the floor just as he passed out. 

 

“Won’t matter.”  A line of scarlet ran from the edge of Quartermaine’s mouth. “You’ll be suspended and Stane wins.” 

 

As the man fell silent, his eyes closing, Phil sank down on the floor, his back against the wall. 

 

He was so screwed.


	5. Chapter 5

“Donaldson is still in surgery.” Clint stood, staring out the window at the street below. “They’re giving him a fifty-fifty chance.”

 

The hospital corridor was fairly quiet; outside the sky was just beginning to lighten with the coming sunrise. A family congregated in one corner, settled together on uncomfortable benches, with haggard faces and tired eyes. 

 

“Odds are, Stane will try to silence him permanently.” In her set of teddy bear scrubs, Natasha looked right at home, a worn stethoscope hanging around her neck. “I’ll stick around, make sure he gets an opportunity to talk.”

 

“Stane’s unraveling.” Clint turned.  “We’re going to have to move the timetable up.” 

 

“Everything’s in place, but …” she sighed. “I’m going to call Sooraya; if she doesn’t have any leads on Tony, no one does.” 

 

“Last time you worked with her …” 

 

“I know.” Natasha shrugged. “As much as Stark is a pain-in-the-ass, I kind of like the guy. And if you tell him that I’ll kill you” 

 

“If it was just about taking Tony out, they’d have left his body with the convoy. They’re re-negotiating,” Clint said, more for his own benefit than anything else. “I need into Stane’s private communications. Tony could do it.” 

 

“What you need is a hacker, someone good.” Natasha raised an eyebrow. “She’ll help if you ask.”

 

“Phil won’t be happy; he went to bat for her, brought her into the Bureau.”  

 

“She’s good. Maybe better than Stark.” 

 

He really didn’t have a choice; they needed to know what Stane knew. “I’m on my way to the office anyway; I’ll talk to her when I get there.” 

 

* * *

 

“This is a load of bullshit.” Maria rubbed her back as she paced back and forth in the conference room. “Don’t worry Phil, we’re going to find who’s behind this.” 

 

Phil had little to say; he’d talked himself out and it was only 11 a.m.  Telling the same story over and over, first to Fury then to the Assistant Director in Charge of New York.  His house was a crime scene; the forensic people had swarmed his living room before Phil left with Nick.  Bruce had swabbed his hands for gunshot residue and taken both guns for testing.  There were probably people going through his underwear and bedside table drawer; he’d done it a thousand times on cases but now the shoe was on the other foot.  

 

The only good news had been the toxicology report that showed he had been drugged. One point in his column, at least. But there were now two dead FBI agents and Phil was a suspect in both murders. He needed more positives to balance the scales. 

 

“We know who.” Steve stood at parade rest, his face immobile and serious. “And we know why. The question is what we do about it.” 

 

Movement caught Phil’s eye; looking through the glass partition, he saw Clint bump Skye’s shoulder as she passed over a folder.  With a wink, Clint said something to her then turned towards the stairs.  When he noticed Phil’s gaze, Clint broke out into one of his sexy grins. Phil kept a list of them from the flirty chuckle to the come hither patented panty dropper, each one special when directed towards him.  

 

Something settled in his chest, a certainty that belied the chaos around him.  His career was on the line, his life in upheaval, but, maybe, that was a good thing. Stane, HYDRA … Phil no longer believed that the law could bring them down. 

 

“Got the info on Quartermaine’s sister.” Clint passed the file to Maria. “The neighbor’s using an alias, but Skye tracked down his identity.  Kidnapping, extortion, rape … he’s a piece of work.”  

 

“We should pick him up, get to him first, see what he knows,” Maria said.

 

“I’ll go.” Steve turned with an economy of motion. 

 

“Take Barton with you.” Maria tucked the folder under her arm. “Best if Assistant Director Rodriguez isn’t reminded there’s a con man with access to the evidence.” 

 

“Well, I’m kind of hard to forget.” Clint nudged Phil’s shoulder. “But you’re right. I should stay out of her way.”  

 

“I’ll grab my jacket.” Steve headed down the stairs. 

 

“Maria?” Phil asked. 

 

She nodded and followed Steve, leaving them alone. 

 

“Did you …” Phil started. 

 

“Are you doing …” Clint said at the same time. 

 

They chuckled and Phil felt a little bit lighter. “Donaldson?” 

 

“Covered,” Clint replied. “The AD giving you a hard time?” 

 

“Hard enough, but I’ll survive.” Phil sighed. “She’s more worried about the political fall out than anything else.” 

 

“Rumor is she’s thinking of running for Congress. Heaven save us from bureaucrats.” A simple pass of Clint’s across Phil’s shoulder was all they could risk. “You’re going to make it through this.” 

 

“Maybe I’ll be the one in prison and you can come visit me.” He meant it as a joke, but the statement was too close to the his fears. “That’s a better scenario than …” 

 

“Don’t.” Clint’s eyes grew serious. “Don’t even think it. I won’t let it happen. Besides, we’ve got a deal, remember; I work for you until I serve my time.  I’ve still got a year left.” 

 

“Yeah. You’re right. No one else can keep you under control,” Phil agreed. 

 

Something flared in those blue-green depths. “I need a firm hand, that’s true. But it has to be the right one.” 

 

Without thinking about it, Phil swiped his bottom lip with his tongue, the image of firm hands spilling into his head. “Guess I’ll have to stick around then.” 

 

“Indeed.” 

 

* * *

 

“Go ahead, say what you want to say.” Clint slid a hand over the leather seats of Steve’s Super Bee Charger. When Steve glanced over at him, Clint laughed. “You never use your personal car at work, dude. Must be important.” 

 

“There’s a jammer in the glove compartment; the motor pool cars are probably bugged,” Steve said. “Look, I know there’s plausible deniability; Buck’s into this up to his neck and he won’t say a word. Whatever it is, you can count on me. Nothing I hate worse than a bully and Stane’s just a wealthy one.”

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, of course. But, hypothetically, the best thing you could do is exactly what you’re doing now; work the case. Find out who really killed Garrett and set Phil up.”  

 

“Of course, I’ll do my job. I meant …”  He stopped. “Yeah, I know. You don’t want to drag me into something illegal. Everyone thinks I’m so sort of damn boy scout. I get angry, Clint. I’ve broken the law and I’ve got no problem doing it again to help a friend.” 

“You have a career, friends, a woman in your life,” Clint said. “You’re our inside man, Steve.”

 

“Oh.” Steve thought about it for a second. “Okay.”  He navigated through a congested intersection. 

 

“Now, what’s the play for catching this guy? Odds are he’s not at his apartment; I’d give up the alias and skip as soon as I found out about Quartermaine.” 

 

“Which is why I put eyes on him as soon as I heard Phil’s story. Guy’s down in Hell’s Kitchen at a chinese grocery store.” Steve smiled. “Seems he’s got a bolt hole above it.” 

 

“Well, damn, Rogers. I may have underestimated you.” 

 

“You wouldn’t be the  first.” 

 

* * *

 

It was the shoes that gave him away.  Nurses were on their feet all day; cowboy boots were the last things they’d wear for a long night shift. The heels clicked on the linoleum tile as he pushed the medicine cart down the hallway, passing room after room, only slowing when he neared the one he was aiming for.  

 

James waited until the man stopped before he reached out and dragged him into the empty room. Pushing the door closed, Bucky slammed the assassin face first into the wall, holding him with a hand on his neck and an arm across his back. 

 

“Nice boots,” Bucky practically growled. “Now tell me who sent you.” 

 

“Fuck off.” The man jerked his head backwards; James pulled out of the way but the motion loosened his grip and the man tore free. A fist plowed into his middle, knocking him two steps back; righting himself, James came out swinging, landing three solid blows.  

 

The guy was good … or Bucky was out-or-practice which he very well could be.  Too many years of paperwork and flying from city to city; he’d tried the respectable job route, done his best. But this was what he did best, stopping bad guys with his fists. Spinning on his heel, he smacked his elbow into the man’s face, nose cartilage breaking with a gush of blood. 

 

They tussled back and forth, knocking over the IV stand and sending the bed rolling against the wall.  James almost had him but had to let go when the guy sank his teeth into Bucky’s forearm. Then he found himself face down on the floor, an arm across his neck and knee in his back. 

 

“I saw you yesterday,” the man said. “Once I’m done with the Fed, I’m going to enjoy taking out that strawberry blonde bitch at S.I. Might take my time and have some fun with her.” 

 

“Son-of-a-bitch.” James twisted his legs, got his knees under him and bucked the man off, catching an arm and yanking it back, trapping the guy by straddling his chest. Three good punches to the face and he stopped fighting, eyes rolling back in his head as he passed out. 

 

“Here.” Natasha offered him a set of cuffs and James made short work of tying the guy up with cords from the blinds and leaving him in the shower stall. 

 

“You could have helped,” he grumbled, rubbing the crick that was already forming in his neck. “Instead of stand there and watch.” 

 

“You had it under control,” she replied, cataloguing every bump and bruise with her eyes. “Besides, I like men who can handle themselves; makes me sure they can handle me.” 

 

“Yeah, well, I’m out of practice.” He meant both ways and she smiled at the double entendre. 

 

“Then we should spar more often.” Stepping closer, she ran a delicate finger along the line of his jaw. Rising up on her toes, she brushed a soft kiss over the red skin, her scent filling his nose. “Now that you’re yourself again, it won’t take long for you to get into the rhythm.” 

 

“You mean now that I don’t have to arrest you,” he amended, both disappointed and relieved when she pulled away. 

 

“You’re still a white knight, James. Just not the kind who plays by rules,” she clarified.  “After this is over, we’ll set our own.” 

 

“Is that a promise or …” James’ words were cut off by a kiss -- quick, sweet, hot, and stirring. 

 

“Let’s get our source of info out of here.” She was all business now and James loved that about her, how she went from flirty to flinty in a glance. Taking out her phone, she punched numbers as she told him, “Grab a wheelchair down the hall; we can take him out through the parking garage.” 

 

He headed to door and heard just the beginning of her conversation. 

 

“Mel? Yeah, it’s on. They’re going for Potts …”

 

* * *

 

He’d known it was coming. Had gone over the whole procedure, step-by-step. Practiced logical calm responses when the request came. Steeled his emotions, assured himself it was only temporary, and  planned what to do next. And yet, the second Nick called Phil into his office, all of PHil’s bravado slipped away, leaving an emotional morass of self-doubt and fears. 

 

“I want to be clear,” Assistant Director Rodriguez said as soon as Phil closed the door. “This is just following protocol and in no way a statement of guilt or culpability.” 

 

He wanted to sit down but needed to stay standing. Keeping the door within easy reach, Phil nodded. “I understand.” 

 

“Well, I’m glad you do because I think this sucks,” Nick said.  “I voted to screw the rules and go after the real murderers, for what it’s worth.” 

 

“Thanks.” Phil gave a tiny nod to his friend and boss. “But we have to do this by the book, not give them any ammunition against me.” 

 

“Exactly,” Rodriguez agreed.  “So I have to ask you to turn in your gun and badge; as of this moment, you are on suspension. You may not be involved in any ongoing investigations or present yourself as an agent of the federal government. Go home, don’t leave the city, check in with Fury and stay at ready for further questions.” 

 

“We’ve already got his gun,” Nick reminded her. “And his place is a crime scene.” 

 

His badge was heavy in his hand, the black leather holder smooth from years of use. Laying it on Nick’s desk, Phil felt its absent weight in his pocket; it had been his shield for so long, he wasn’t sure what to do without it. 

 

“Both Steve and Maria have offered me a place to stay; I’ll let you know where I end up,” he said. “I’m going to visit Pepper for a bit, see how she’s holding up.” 

 

“I’ll drive you to the Tower,” Rodriguez said. “I want to assure them that we’re doing all we can to help.” 

 

And just like that, it was done. Phil Coulson was no longer a Special Agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.  It might just be a suspension, but it might also be permanent if Stane had his way.  Phil had no way of knowing what came next. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil's life's upended but there's one thing he's sure of and he plans to hold on to it. Obediah meets someone who might be able to help him and someone is good at making chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus ends the part one of the two part series finale of my White Collar AU. 
> 
> Finals are coming up in two weeks, plus I've got a conference out-of-town, so I'll be writing without posting for a few weeks. Don't worry, I've already got the whole conclusion planned and ready to go. Now if it would just leap from my brain to the screen ....

“Damn it.” Clint vented his frustration as he slammed the door to his apartment. The sound echoed in the empty space. “Damn it, damn it, damn it.” 

 

He and Steve had spent the better part of the afternoon and into the evening running down a man who seemed to disappear. By the time they got to the warehouse, there was no sign of their quarry; after chasing their tails, Clint was sure they’d never find the neighbor. Odds were, he’d changed identities and was long gone; without him, that line of inquiry dried up. 

 

Even angry, he took the time to block his hat and hang his jacket and pants, changing into a soft pair of cotton sleep pants with his white t-shirt.  An unease weighed in the pit of his stomach; so many variables, so many ways things could go wrong. He felt like they’d hit a tipping point and were poised for either a fall or a win; he just didn’t know which one.

 

Uncorking a bottle of pinot noir, he tipped it up and poured the deep red liquid into his glass just as his phone rang.  The number gave him a spike of hope. 

 

“Tell me some good news,” he said, putting the call on speaker.

 

“Someone tried to kill the Fed in the hospital; soon as he wakes up, James and I have some questions for him.” As always, Natasha jumped right into the conversation. 

 

“I’m on my way.” Clint immediately corked the wine bottle. “I can be there in fifteen …”

 

“No,” Natasha interrupted. “It’s going to be awhile. I had to dose him to get him out of the hospital; couldn’t risk him waking up on the gurney. It’ll be morning before he rouses. Anyway, that’s the good news. Now do you want the bad news or the worse news?”

 

He took out the cork and filled the glass with more. “Worse first.” 

 

“He was going after Pepper next.” 

 

“Damn.” A long sip gave Clint a few seconds to think. “We’re shifting into desperation mode. That plays hell with the plan.” 

 

“I’ve already touched base with May; she’s on high alert. Pepper will be safe.” Natasha sighed. “And I talked to Matt.” 

 

“I’ll get the others,” Clint said. “Have you heard from Sooraya?” 

 

“She’s heard whispers but nothing solid; she’s got strings in lots of places so she’s going to tug on a few. For a price.” 

 

“Let me guess. The Oxus gryphon head bracelet.” 

 

“The woman’s a thief. I stole that square and fair.  Stark’s going to owe me something really expensive and very shiny to replace it,” Natasha groused. “This is what you and that Suit are doing to me, Barton. I’m losing my edge.”

 

“You sure that’s me and not a certain dark haired insurance adjuster?” Clint asked.  “Oh, wait, he’s not a company man anymore, is he? That little obstacle is gone.” 

 

“Pot, kettle, Clint. The bad news I mentioned? Guess who …”

 

Someone knocked on Clint’s door; glancing up at the video monitor Tony had installed, he saw Phil in the hallway. “Hold on,” he told Natasha, taking the phone away from his ear to open the door. 

 

Phil was still in his suit, but his tie was loosened and collar unbuttoned. In one hand he had a sack of take out and in the other a six pack of beer. Slung over his shoulder was an overnight bag. 

 

“Hey.” Clint stepped aside and let Phil in; he spoke into the receiver again. “It’s Phil.” 

 

When Phil raised an eyebrow, Clint mouthed the word ‘Natasha.’

 

“Ah, I see. I’ll let him fill you in. And Clint? Carpe that diem.” She hung up. 

 

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” Phil said as way of greeting. He sat the food on the table and tucked the beer in the fridge.

 

“Just an update. She said you could fill me in on the bad news.” He catalogued the creases at the edges of Phil’s eyes and the lines across his forehead. Shoulders slumped as he opened a bottle and drank a long swig. The tiniest of sighs as he blinked slowly. 

 

“Yeah. About that.” Phil turned to face Clint. “Fury suspended me. Took my badge and gun. I’m not an official suspect but a person of interest so I’m not only off the case but I’m out. I’m no longer an agent of the Federal Government.” 

 

“It’s only temporary, right? When Donaldson wakes up …”

 

“I know, it’s just … My home’s a crime scene, one friend is lost in Afghanistan, another is under guard because her boss might be trying to kill her …” 

 

“Stane sent someone to the hospital tonight for Donaldson and then Pepper. Bucky stopped him.” 

 

“God.” Phil sat his beer on the counter. “I was just there. At least Mel’s with her. Tell me they got him and he’s talking.”

 

“They got him, but he’s not going to wake up until tomorrow. Tasha’s good with thiopental, so he’ll be fine.” 

 

“Natasha knows how to knock people out. I’ll add that to the list of things that scare me about her.” Phil stepped away from the counter, closing the distance. “So, you mind if I crash here tonight? I brought sushi.” 

 

Clint’s lidibo did a happy dance at the very thought of a sleepy Phil Coulson, and that was a red flag. Keeping Phil at arm’s length challenged Clint’s will power enough at the office during the day, but in the dark while he was in bed?  

 

“From that place on 34th?” Clint asked, suddenly aware of Phil’s coming nearer.. 

 

“They had Mexican mako rolls;.” Phil stopped close enough for Clint to smell his lingering aftershave. 

 

“Phil.” Clint breathed the word, half afraid Phil would back away. 

 

“I’m not an agent right now.” Phil’s head tilted ever so slightly. “And you’re not my C. I.”

 

“I’m not a gentleman,” Clint warned. “If you open the door, even a crack, I won’t hesitate.” 

 

“Good.” He leaned the rest of the way in, brushing the lightest touch of his lips. “Because I don’t want to be talked out of it. This is one thing I’m sure of.” 

 

Phil kissed him, not fast and hard or slick and needy, but soft, like he feared Clint would evaporate at the touch. Then a retreat to stare, blue irises taking in Clint’s face before he moved in again for another. Fingertips brushed up Clint’s arms and long his shoulder before Phil stepped back. 

 

Shrugging off his jacket, Phil said, “This is the point where I slip into something more comfortable, right?” 

 

He started to drape the jacket over the back of a chair, but Clint stopped him with a hand. “That will ruin the blocking. Come on.”  Leading Phil into the walk-in closet, Clint took down a wooden hanger.  “Pants too.” 

 

“You could just ask me to get undressed.” Phil passed over his jacket. “I wouldn’t say no.” 

 

“But isn’t this more intimate?” Clint smoothed out the shoulders and watched as Phil sat on the small bench to remove his shoes. “You’re shoes on the floor, your suit hanging neatly in my closet.” 

 

“Why I think that’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”  Phil chuckled as he slipped his belt free from the loops.  “And I know how you feel about your clothes.” 

 

As Phil unzipped his pants , Clint leaned against the wall.  “Never hurts to treat your things well … or the people around you.” 

 

“Ummm,” Phil murmured his agreement. He stepped out of one pants leg and then the other. Shirt tails hanging free, he held them out for Clint to hang up. “I have a clean shirt and new tie for tomorrow.” 

 

“White briefs.” Clint smiled. “My favorite.” 

 

Standing now in just his t-shirt and underwear, Phil shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I peg you for a boxer man. Silk. A matching color to your tie.” 

 

“You could find out for yourself,” Clint offered, hands splayed on the wall beside his hips. Desire flared in his gut, the easy crawl of anticipation becoming a steady thrum. 

 

Phil moved and Clint waited. Fingertips caught his elastic waistband and slipped beneath, gliding over bare skin. Phil’s eyes widened and he caught his breath. After a second of hesitation, he cupped the curve with his palm and brought their bodies together. 

 

“Tell me you sleep in the nude,” he murmured as he nipped at the edge of Clint’s mouth. “I’ve dreamed of you that way.” 

 

“With no covers in the summer,” Clint replied, tilting his head to give Phil better access.   

 

Languid kisses gave way to more urgent explorations … the curve of a neck and line of a jaw, the soft spot behind the ear and the dip of skin at the collarbone. Shirts came off so fingers could trail along the lines of muscles,  mouths tasting a trail along the neck. 

 

“Shall we …” Clint breathed. 

 

“Yes …” Phil answered. 

 

They kissed their way out of the hallway, Clint bumping into the table and Phil knocking against  the coffee table. Then Clint pushed Phil flat on the bed and shed the rest of their clothes before he covered Phil’s body with his own. Slow roll of hips gave way to slick hands and breathy moans, an increasing need that drove them to the edge together, Clint following Phil over just seconds behind. 

 

Through it all, Clint kept his eyes open, taking in every tiny variation of Phil’s expression; the way he squeezed his eyes shut and wrinkled his nose, the second of held breath just before the sigh of release, the turn of his head to the right, and the involuntary murmur of pleasure as he relaxed his hold.  Better than he’d imagined in his night time fantasies, Clint filed it all away, the feel of Phil’s skin, the taste of his mouth, the half smile on Phil’s face. Life had taught Clint to take the good when he found it and be grateful for it.  And Phil was the best thing that had ever happened to him. This short moment was going to have to be enough.

 

* * *

 

“... sure of it. It’s the smoking gun we need to get that motherfucker.” 

 

Obediah stopped before he turned the corner; glancing both directions, he saw no one else in the hallway. Being the CEO of SI had its perks; traversing the back hallways of the club to avoid other people was one of them. At the most, he ran into a few performers here on the third floor. 

 

“Trust me. I’ll have Barton on his knees by tomorrow. Turnabout’s fair play.” 

 

Leaning forward, Stane saw that dancer, the one who performed upstairs, Saul or Seb or Sam or something, talking on his phone.  

 

“Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan. He’ll be back in jail by next week.” 

 

Well, well, Stane thought.  Just what was the stripper up to? And what did he have on Barton?

 

“Tomorrow. I’ll call when it’s done.” 

 

After the dancer hung up, Stane turned the corner and sauntered his way. 

 

“Oh. Mr. Stane.” He stuck his phone in his pocket. “Do you need some help?  Looking for a private room?”

 

“Actually, I think I can help you.” Obediah smiled, using his extra inches of height to tower over the younger man. “Sending Barton back to jail.”

 

“Barton? Who’s Barton?” The man might be good at taking off his clothes, but he wasn’t a successful liar. “I don’t know …” 

 

“Really?” Stane sneered. “You’ll have him on his knees tomorrow?” 

 

“I … yeah, okay, I hate the dude but that doesn’t mean …” 

 

“Let’s have a chat, shall we? Or should I tell the FBI that you’re withholding information about a known con man and art thief?” 

 

“Damn it. Fine. But Barton is mine; I get to take him down.” 

 

“You can have him,” Stane agreed. “I just want him out of my way. Permanently.” 

* * *

 

Phil gazed out at the city lights, bottle held loosely between his fingers. Even this late, the sounds of cars filtered through the glass; a few windows were bright rectangles in the otherwise dark facade of nearby buildings. As much as Phil loved the steady beat of life of New York, at the moment, his mind was filled with Clint. He should be worried, should have a ball of anxiety in his chest, but he didn’t.  Falling for Clint had started a long time ago; before the arrest, he’d been fascinated by him, he could admit it now. Going to bed with Clint, he’d realized, had been inevitable after he saw beneath the facade and got to know the man himself. 

 

And he was fine with it. Calm, even. Happy. Satisfied. Maybe … no, he wouldn’t go that far. Not yet. 

 

“Hey.” Clint slid his arms around Phil’s waist, resting his chin on Phil’s shoulder. “Sam’s in.”

 

He sighed; they’d passed the point of no return. “I wish we knew if Tony … logically, I know it’s been too long without a ransom demand.” 

 

“The terrorists didn’t kill him in the first attack; they want to squeeze as much money out of Stane as they can,” Clint said. “Besides, if anyone can talk himself out of trouble, it’s Tony.” 

 

“And when Stane doesn’t pay up?” Phil shook his head. “We both know what will happen.” 

 

“Phil.” Clint nuzzled his nose behind Phil’s ear. “Natasha’s got a contact who’s on it.  We’re doing what we can.” 

 

“I know.” And he did. With all the resources the FBI had, Natasha could run rings around even the best intel gatherers. Working outside the bright line of the law got faster results. “But sitting around, doing nothing, doesn’t feel right.” 

 

Clint didn’t answer; instead, he took the bottle from Phil’s hands and finished the last of the beer. They stood in silence for a few moments, Phil enjoying the warmth of Clint at his back, both the physical presence as well as knowing they were in this together. Having someone to share his cases with … and much more than that … was a new and unique feeling. 

 

“Come to bed,” Clint finally murmured. “The food’s all put away and you need rest.” 

 

“Rest?” Phil turned his head. “Is that what you call it?” 

 

“Slow and easy, just what you need,” Clint promised. “Trust me, you’ll feel better than if you’d slept for twelve hours.”

 

“All bets are off, aren’t they?” Phil said. Satisfaction flickered at the knowledge that Clint wanted more. 

 

“Not a gentleman; you opened the door and I’m not leaving.” Clint caught Phil’s mouth in a quick kiss. “Fair warning; I’m good at playing dirty.”

 

“Maybe next time.” Phil let Clint guide him across the room. “All my toys are at home.” 

 

Eyes widened and Clint stopped. “Your …”

 

Phil chuckled as he tugged Clint over and pushed him down on the bed. 

 

“Ah, I see. Distract me with a lie and take control.” Clint grinned up at him. 

 

“Who said I was lying?” 

 

* * *

 

“Oh my God. Tony.” James Rhodes crossed the small room in two steps and wrapped his arms around his friend. Tony laid his head on Rhodey’s shoulder and squeezed his eyes shut as he shuddered, so damn happy to be safe that he couldn’t think of a single smart ass thing to say. “Next time you ride with me, you understand?” 

 

“Yeah,” he agreed wholeheartedly. “You’ll have to kick me out from now on.” 

 

“Who …” Rhodes became aware of the other three people in the room. 

 

“This is Yinsen, his wife and daughter.  I promised they could come to the States with me.” Tony pulled back and pushed the keffiyeh off his head. “I sort of made them think I was going to build him a weapon; Yinsen’s an engineer they’d captured.  He helped me escape.”

 

“It was Mr. Stark who bribed the guards.” Yinsen had his arms around both women, holding them tight. “He’s the reason my family is free.” 

 

“Of course.” Rhodey only nodded at the news. He turned to one of the guards who’d entered with him. “Scramble a squadron; once I get the location …” 

 

“Just look for the plume of black smoke to the northeast,” Tony told him. “I may have blown up their weapons stash as we left.” 

 

Sinking into onto a chair, Rhodey started to laugh. “Jesus, Tony, you never do things by half, do you?” 

 

“You know me; have to make a big exit.” Tony leaned against the wall next to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “It was Obie. He paid them to kill me. Good thing they were greedy and tried for more.”  From the pocket of his pants, he took out a small battered USB drive. “I’ve got everything I need to prove Obie was the one selling them weapons under the table.” 

 

That sobered Rhodey up; his dark eyes hardened. “A lot of shit’s going down,” he said. “We need to let Pepper know you’re safe and then we get you home.” 

 

“So we can kick Obie’s ass.” Tony smiled. “But first, a shower and a cheeseburger. And a drink.” 

  
  
  


**_TO BE CONTINUED_ **

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki, Matt, Melinda, and now Sam? hmmmmmmmmm ..... :)
> 
> Lots of loose ends to tie up and one bad guy to bring down. All will be revealed in the second part. :)))


End file.
